


Not enough

by Emberglade



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Also alcohol abuse?, But it's not really intended, Depression in general, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, If you're reading this just mentally prepare yourself, Interperetable C-137cest, Like if you want to see it as shipping go ahead?, Rick is attempting btw, Self Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emberglade/pseuds/Emberglade
Summary: He never wanted to be walked in on while doing this.





	Not enough

Rick’s hands traced the rope slowly, looking down at it. A bit medieval, but it would get the job done, hopefully. He could hear the dull sound of snoring through the ventilation that came out into the garage in the background and he smiled bittersweetly. Beth always snored just a little.  
  
He picked up the rope and slowly examined it, looking at how the threads wound together and held a bind. He chuckled to himself at how simple it was. Setting it back down, Rick looked around the garage, his only real ‘safe space’. There were beer cans and alcohol bottles littering the ground, and the concrete was stained every color imaginable. Although there was a lot more red than anything.  
  
The lanky man smiled a little wider at the plate by the door. Morty left it there that morning, when Rick had been too lazy to get off the sticky floor and participate in existance. Pancakes and bacon. By now it was gross, the syrup fully absorbed and crusty in the pancake, and the bacon cold and slimy. He felt his eyes watering up. Shit.  
  
Turning away from the food, he wandered around, scanning shelves and counters covered in a million things, from screwdrivers to fucking alien weapons, but no goddamn pen and paper. When he finally found a dinky notepad and a short, stubby pencil, his eyes were streaming with tears he wasn’t even sure that he had.  
  
He sad on the floor, in the middle of the garage and started to scribble shit incoherently down. Mostly just telling the reader to forget him and move on (and not touch his shit). After a lot of crossing out and scribbling and teeth grinding, he had something he didn’t hate. Setting the pad on the floor, he dragged a stool, a little too loudly, to the metal pole by the door that usually held the garage door up. Since the door was down, it seemed almost too perfect. Rick grimaced. He turned back to the table to get his rope, and tied it to the metal beam with precision. Too much precision.  
  
He stood on the stool, sighing. Last time he tried to take his own life, it failed. As usual. But it didn’t stop him from trying. Almost nothing could stop him. He looped the rope around his neck, staring at the concrete. Rick knew exactly how this would play out. His attempt would fail and he’d be left to clean up and go along with his life as if it never happened. For Beth. For Morty. Fuck even for Summer. But it was worth a shot.  
  
He took a swig from his flask and threw it to the floor, careless about the loud noise it made. Nothing ever mattered, really. He couldn’t keep good people in his life because he was so toxic and he only hurt himself when with people like him. What did it matter if he woke someone up?  
  
Just as he was about to kick the stool from under him, the garage doorknob rattled. “Grandpa Rick? You- You okay in there? It’s louder than usual… W- why is the door locked?”  
  
“O- one -urp- one second little dude!” Rick felt panic rise in his throat, but he sent a silent prayer to no one in particular that he’d switched the doorknob around so that it locked from the inside. If Morty saw him like this… Well, it wouldn’t be good, for the kid or for Rick.  
  
“Are you okay? Like if you’re naked or something I don’t wanna know but… L- L- Like are you hurt or-?” Morty was wiggling the doorknob.  
  
“Urhhhg- Morty, just- just wait!” Rick was struggling to get his head through the rope, as it was tied tightly. He fumbled in his pockets before he managed to get a hold of his pocket knife, a pink bladed, deadly weapon he picked up from the same place he bought Morty that goddamn breeding robot a few months ago. He was gonna give it to Summer for her birthday.  
  
Sawing aggressively at the rope, he not only managed to cut through the noose, but he nicked himself in the throat a little, fortunately nowhere near an important vein. He hit the cold concrete with a loud smack, and groaned a little. He had rope burn around his neck, his hands burned, and he was dizzy from intoxication, adrenaline, and a huge lack of sleep. “Fuuuuck.” He mumbled, watching the blade clatter to the floor and spin a bit away from him. Looking up, he could see the noose still hanging there, cut on the neck.  
  
“Rick?? I’m coming in there!”  
  
Before the scientist could protest, the doorknob rattled and the lock turned from Morty using a key. The door swung open, and Rick felt his heart drop. He was crouched over on the ground, next to a knocked over stool and a rope that was so clearly a noose cut by the neck. He was facing away from Morty, but he could feel the burn of the poor kid’s stare from where he was.  
  
“R- Rick?”  
  
The older man stood up and dusted off his coat, frowning at the red droplets splattering it. He was still bleeding. Without even a glance at his Grandson, the scientist walked over to the shelves on the right of the garage and searched for the first aid kit. He was applying some gauze around his neck when Morty spoke up again.  
  
“Rick what were you-” Rick cut him off, voice raspy and strained.  
  
“You know damn well wha- ugh- what I was doing, Mor- Morty.” He turned to his grandson when he was finally bandaged, his hand’s shaking and planted at his sides, as if he had no idea what to do with them. If he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have bandaged himself up if Morty wasn’t there. He just wanted to spare the kid.  
  
“B- But you… But…” Morty bit his lower lip, playing with the hem of his pajama shirt.  
  
“Not like it went to plan. Never does…” Rick mumbled, picking up the blade, snapping closed, and slipping it in his pocket. He stood on the stool and started taking down the rope. Morty was silent for a moment before he spoke up unexpectedly.  
  
“How many times?”  
  
“Hmm- urp- what?” Rick looked back at Morty, raising his eyebrow. He took the rope down and threw it on the floor.  
  
“You- You said it never goes to plan. Ho- How many times have you tried to… y'know…” He motioned to the rope. Rick looked at his palms when they moved, not his eyes. He couldn’t bear to.  
  
Instead of answering his question, Rick eyed the notepad on the floor. However, before he could go get it, Morty was picking it up and staring at it. Rick almost couldn’t bear to watch his grandson cry like he was, a hand pressed against his lips and the tears streaming down his face. “R- Rick…”  
  
He stepped down from the stool, rope falling down to the floor, and walked over to Morty. The scientist took the book from him and set it on his workshop table. “Look, -urp- kiddo. Just forget about this. It’s not- well, it’s not a big deal.” He was lying through his teeth. Rick knew this was a big deal, and he knew that Morty wouldn’t be able to forget about it, but he didn’t want to have to face it.  
  
Instead of listening and accepting, Morty spoke up again, this time more demanding. “How many times, Rick?”  
  
Rick pressed his hands to the table that was cluttered with notes and beakers and science gibberish. Sweat poured down his face and neck, and his hands were also clammy. His brow was furrowed and he was trying his hardest not to crack under Morty’s gaze.  
  
His mind was racing and he turned to look back at his grandson, against his better judgement. “Not eno- ugh- enough.” They two made eye contact, icy blue clashing with deep brown. Rick had a strange, melancholy thought of how Morty had gotten his father’s eyes, instead of his mother’s. Those eyes were full of confusion and pain.  
  
Tears were pouring down Morty’s face and he smiled bittersweetly before wiping off his cheeks on the yellow sleeve of his pajama top. “Rick do you- do you ever need to talk?”  
  
Rick frowned and pulled out his flask, taking a swig of the liquid that burned his throat and made his eyes water slightly. “Talking does nothing, Kiddo.” He burped obnoxiously again, and wondered slightly if people would understand if his burps in fanfiction were implied instead of written all the time.  
  
“I- I dunno about you b- but talking helps me…” Morty bit his lower lip and stared at the floor.  
  
“Who do you even talk to?” Rick frowned.  
  
“You?”  
  
This took rick by surprise, as he never thought of himself as someone who was useful in any way. He smiled faintly. “Hey, Morty?”  
  
“Y- Yeah Rick?” his grandson’s head shot up quickly and he smiled weakly, eyes wide.  
  
Rick opened a single arm from his body, looking at the garage door. “Come ‘ere.” Morty just stared at him, confused, and Rick spoke up again to clarify. “I want a fucking hug Morty.” He belched again, against his most conscious efforts to not ruin this moment.  
  
The teenager’s eyes lit up and he walked over to his grandfather, wrapping his arms around his hips and burying his face in his chest. Rick, taken back, stiffened quickly before relaxing and placing his hand tenderly on top of his head. Something wet made contact with his chest and he looked down to see Morty silently sobbing. Running a hand through the short, brown and tufty hair, he frowned.  
  
“H- H- Hey Rick?” Morty was gasping and hyperventilating between breaths. He looked up. “Will you promise to… to talk to me? About your… whatever that was?”  
  
Rick looked away from those pleading eyes and stared out the doorway that stopped in darkness. He swallowed and let out a deep breath, forcing down a burp. “Alright…”

**Author's Note:**

> SO  
> I CRAPPED THIS OUT  
> HOPE YOU LIKE IT  
> I dunno how I feel about writing the stutters and burps in the dialouge. It's annoying but looks wrong without it, at least to me. Tell me what you think, if you want?


End file.
